Chapter 44
SADIE
I lightly trace the butterfly on my shoulder, the pain now mostly gone and in its place, satisfaction. I have a tattoo. A real, can’t-erase-it tattoo.
I take a selfie of it in the mirror and send it to my sisters.
Sophie
NO WAY!
Emma
Is that real?!
Sophie
Welcome to the fun side.
Sadie
Yes, it’s real. Just got it.
Emma
Mom is going to flip.
Sophie
I have three. If Mom flips, she can flip out on me too.
Emma
You have THREE?
Sophie
Yes.
Emma
Where?
Sophie
Lower back. Ankle. Upper thigh.
Emma
When?
Sophie
When I wanted to.
Sadie
Milo’s about to get one.
Emma
A blue butterfly?!
Sadie
No. I’m not sure what he picked out yet.
Sophie
You two are turning into #couplegoals
Emma
So, does this mean you’re coming home now?
Sadie
No.
Emma
Well . . . just text Mom to let her know you’re okay. Please.
I sigh.
Sadie
Fine.
I close out of the group chat and pull up a text with my mom. The last thing she texted me reads . . .
Mom
Sadie, honey. I don’t know what’s going on, but your dad and I just want you to know we love you. I hope you got a hold of everyone before you left. There are people counting on you.
I inhale sharply.
Sadie
Mom, we’re in New Jersey right now. Not sure when I’ll be back home. I’m doing something for myself for a change. Love you both.
I hear the buzz of the tattoo gun and quickly close out of my messages, putting my phone back in my purse. I walk back toward where Milo is lying on a leather table, the bottom of his forearm turned up as Holly leans over intently.
I sink down in the chair beside him to his left, reaching for his hand. He takes mine and squeezes softly. “Hi,” he says with a simple smile.
“Hi,” I reply. “How’s it feel?”
“Like nothing,” he replies, but I watch him wince as Holly’s eyebrows arch.
I grin. “Need a story?”
“Sure.”
“It’s about a girl.”
“Sounds promising.”
“Who loved a boy,” I add.
“Love it already.”
“But forgot how to love herself.”
Milo looks at me more earnestly now. “She probably should have asked the boy what he loved about her. To help jog her memory.”
I tilt my head. “What would that boy have said?”
“That he loved how she had a heart for others, even when she cried for days over a fake character in a book.” His thumb circles gently against my hand.
I smile. “Fake people matter, too.”
“And that he loved how she gave all of herself when she did something. She never did anything halfway.”
I laugh. “You’ve got to jump in with both feet.”
“And that she loved fiercely,” he continues, his gaze warm on me. “Not carefully. Not with a safety net. Fiercely.”
I swallow.
“That was never the problem,” he adds quietly. “She just forgot she was allowed to be one of the people she loved like that.”
I stare into Milo’s eyes intently for several long minutes, and his eyes never leave mine. For some, this type of eye contact would feel jarring. For me, it feels like Milo’s anchoring me to truth.
The buzzing stops.
“Done,” Holly announces as she wipes off Milo’s skin, blood on the paper towel.
Milo sits up, his eyes finally leaving mine to look at his newly inked forearm.
I stand, leaning up against Milo to see what he chose, never dropping his hand.
It’s a compass.
Something twists within me, because this tattoo doesn’t just feel like it’s about Milo.
“Why’d you pick this?” I whisper.
Milo studies it for a moment, like he’s answering the question for himself first.
“Because I want to be reminded of what matters, what direction my choices are leading me to,” he finally says.
He flexes his forearm slightly, the dark lines of the compass settling into his skin.
He turns to me, our lips only an inch apart, before he says, “I haven’t always made choices that have led me in the right direction.”
I trace the edge of the tattoo with my eyes, the symbolism clicking into place in a way that feels steady and sure.
“I love it,” I say softly.
His mouth lifts at one corner. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “It suits you.”
Holly clears her throat behind us. “All right, you two. I’ll wrap this up and give you aftercare instructions.”
Milo smiles as he stands, giving his forearm back to Holly.
The compass ink is still red around the edges, unfinished and tender.
I reflect on Milo’s words. All of them.
The compass. The girl.
When I stopped loving myself, letting everyone else choose for me still had consequences. My life has become a reflection of that.
I reach for my new tattoo, my fingers grazing the swollen skin, and smile to myself.
This inked blue butterfly can’t grant me wishes, but it’s a reminder that I don’t have to carry the expectations of everyone else on my shoulders. I can choose differently. I can change the direction I’m going.
But before I go back to Dusty Hollow and wreak havoc, I’m going to enjoy something Sophie said.
The fun side.